Manipulating the imaginary
by DancingDuck98
Summary: Hermione travels back in time to manipulate Tom Riddle onto another path while he is young and impressionable attempting to manipulate the outcome of an imaginary future, while Tom attempts to manipulate the girl he always thought was his imaginary friend, until she becomes a reality. Will be a romance but not for a while until Tom grows up. Violence and future sex. Rated M
1. Hermione's decsision

CHAPTER 1 Hermione's Desision

Hermione was sitting on an unfamiliar bed, waiting, trying to push down the nervousness that threatened to swallow her up. She had seen this room before through the eyes of others, but the grim greyness of it struck her again, and she could not believe how any child could grow up in such a shabby yet sterile environment. She ran a finger over the dustless window sill. Lifeless, Hermione decided to herself. It was a wonder so many small children could grow up in this place when it looked as if no living organism could possible survive there. She sat alone feeling further away from her friends than she ever had before, even during their terrible fall out in third year.

Throughout their sixth year, Hermione had not been entirely honest with the boys. She was off to the library far too often for them to notice the little lies for some of her absences. Dumbledore had been far more subtle with his notes to her than his notes to Harry, sending a house elf to deliver then, something Hermione secretly hated. Her lessons with Dumbledore were somewhat different to Harry's, and after pensive after pensive of information on Tom Marvolo Riddle, she was briefed in detail by her headmaster on the tiniest of details, to the biggest. Tom's mannerisms were analysed minutely, what set the boy off, his triggers for anger and bitterness. The mistakes he made, his wrong doings, his every vulnerability. Dumbledore had seemed to be trying to get her to climb inside the young Voldemort's psyche.

At first, she had been impressed by this breaking down of the enemy's past, as knowing about the early life of Lord Voldemort could only give them insight into how he had developed into the psychopath currently tearing apart the lives of so many. But as Dumbledore had made her look closer and closer at every minute detail, she became more and more confused.

Deciding to voice her concern, she confessed, "Sir, I do not understand the purpose of my understanding this Voldemort so well, the child, all his flawed humanity, because the Voldemort we know today is so different. As you said yourself, splitting his soul has made him less human. You are familiarising me with a boy who dead to us."

And Dumbledore had revealed to her the secret. He revealed to her the reason he had been giving her these lessons. He told her that it was high time he was transparent with her, much to her further confusion, as she had thought they were to increase her usefulness as an aid to Harry. Stroking his long beard and peering over his half moon spectacles, he began. "My dear, time is a mysterious thing. It is a versatile performer, It flies, marches on, heals all wounds,

runs out and will tell. It gives and takes away, and as you have pointed out, it changes things, changes people. Time has changed young Tom Riddle, it has taken him away, he is lost in time. But what time has done, is told. It has told the story and given us hindsight, which as someone like me who has made many mistakes knows, hindsight is a wonderful thing that would have been useful, at the time." He steepled his fingers and looked over at her, blue eyes twinkling. "But say, Miss Granger, that you could cheat time. What if we could use the hindsight time has given us, without the moment for its use, the cause, being taken away?"

She remembered that she had been baffled by the outrageously eccentric question. "But that would be impossible Sir," She had replied with certainty. Surely the question was purely speculative?

"But Miss Granger, time is easily manipulated, and to great effect. You yourself have done so in your third year, saving two innocent lives. That was the product of only hours of time travel," he had chuckled, and his eyes seeming to x-ray her.

Under his intense scrutiny, she shuffled uncomfortably in her chair. "But Sir, awful things happen to witches and wizards who meddle with time."

"That is a statement made by very anxious people, and is open to extreme interpretation. What is awful? That depends on the person opinion of anyone making up their mind. What is meddling? If meddling is the altering of something, why you have already done that when you freed Sirius, and I do not believe anyone has died because of it. I would like to make a revision of that statement. People who meddle with time create change. Change is not necessarily bad, it is just different, and it is human nature to fear difference, because it takes us from what we know and are comfortable with. Miss Granger, how many have died at the hands of Lord Voldemort?"

"Very many Sir."

"Then how would a difference that prevented those casualties be a bad thing? How would that difference be awful. Harry would grow up with parents, think of the countless innocents that would likewise live differently. Awful things happen to wizards who create paradoxes in time, that is true, but as long as the timeline is kept clean, I believe it can be safely changed."

"Professor Dumbledore, you were speaking of the young Voldemort, and you have jumped to time, the manipulation of time. I an trying not suppose a connection with your talk of changing timelines."

"Indeed Hermione Granger, you should suppose a connection, for I believe I have stumbled across a plan, and you, ever loyal and brave Gryffindor, brightest witch of her age, full of compassion and the patience to make two lazy boys complete their homework, are the perfect candidate. Should you accept, the road is not an easy one. If it is clear the plan can be instigated, you must make a huge sacrifice, for the well being of many. You will have to prepare in advance, as any missteps could cost us everything. You will need to train in self defence and study the Dark arts to an extent where you can protect yourself against some of its foulest forms. You will need to practice the showy sort of magic that we know captivates riddle's attention. You will need to appear impressive, special, for Riddle to let you get close to him, and when you are close, to persuade him on a different course, before it is too late."

Hermione had sat there dumbstruck for a while, while Dumbledore pushed sherbet lemon after sherbet lemon at her with a kindly smile on his face. Hermione smiled intrepidly. She still could not believe it now. Tom Riddle seemed so daunting. He was such a cold child, and an eerie sociopath through his teens. The idea of getting close to him repulsed her somewhat. He was so manipulative that she did not know if she would be able to tell who was persuading who. He seemed so inherently wrong that she didn't think he could be fixed, but then the plan wasn't to fix him, it was more damage control.

Hermione swung her legs to and fro off the edge of the bed, as she reflected on her thoughts at that fated lesson with Dumbledore. It had been such a shock, and if she was honest it still was, even more so if he considered the fact that she was now sitting in a clinical orphanage bedroom in 1935. She had been obsessed with the concept of time travel for a while after the incident in third year, but she would never believed time travel over a period of years was possible, let alone decades, and she felt she should be over the moon to have been party to this amazing feat of magic. Trust Dumbledore to find a way, and trust him to use it to meddle. Looking back, she could see that the old Professor had manipulated many of their years at Hogwarts, and she was sure he had meant for them to go after the philosopher's stone in their first year.

She had left Dumbledore's study in a hurry that night, politely telling him she needed some time, and had had returned to Gryffindor tower, retired to her room and turned the events of the evening over in her head. She had decided that she should hear him out, because she had run out on him before he could enlighten her with the plan in it's entirety. It was that decision that had taken her back to Dumbledore's office. After giving the password, she had knocked and waited patiently, before Dumbledore's voice bade her enter. The Headmaster had smiled over at her benignly and gestured for her to sit in front of his desk.

"I would like to hear the whole plan Sir, before I make any big decisions," she remembered telling him softly. She fidgeted nervously, not knowing yet whether she would come to regret saying that.

"Of course my dear, I would expect nothing else from you," the old man had twinkled. He reached below his desk and withdrew a strange object, covered in dials and made of many different coloured metals, it had many cogs and dials, what looked like a tiny furnace and a spindly set of chimneys that looked like the pipes of an church organ. "This Miss Granger is a device designed, by myself, to transport and object, like yourself for example, across a large period of time." He pulled another from behind the desk. "Here is it's twin. Now it is my intention to send you back in time, to Tom's childhood. You will at first, dot back and forth, you will make no major changes, you will watch him, and interact with him, but you will not prevent any of the incidents you have see or heard about in the pensive."

She had not seen the point in this. "But why sir, when your intention is to change the timeline, would you send me back just to observe events?" Hermione asked him, bewildered.

"To see if my idea has legs!" Dumbledore had exclaimed excitedly. "You will tell him who you are, Hermione Granger, and you will return. Professor Snape will make us aware of whether Lord Voldemort remembers you, and as Harry's best friend, he knows who you are. When he asks of you, we will know that we are capable of not just changing the timeline, but also making a lasting impression on Tom. However, until then, it is important that there are no significant changes. When we gain that information, you will be trained and readied to travel back again. We will correspond with letters via these devices, until you achieve success. Once you are successful and the timeline these devices were made in is permanently impossible, because it has been replaced with another, they will disintegrate. That will inform you that you have done what must be done."

She had had many concerns about this! "But why do you need me Sir? Yes I am clever, but there are many other clever people who would surely not require such training. How will I return home again when my original timeline ceases to exist?" Hermione had blurted, stricken.

"I need a witch who is school age Miss Granger, as you will be sent to join Mr Riddle in his seventh year if we find the plan is viable. As for your returning to this timeline, I am very sorry Miss Granger, but I did say her would be sacrifices."

"I could never return! But sir, what if I live long enough to see myself born again, people would notice if the same girl went through Hogwarts twice!"

"The magic of infants is a fragile thing, and I believe that If you are still living when another you is born, the new you will be rendered a squib, and the problem will not arise, as she will never know the magical world. Alas, another sacrifice," Dumbledore had said solemnly.

Hermione stared at him. "So I would just never return? What about my parents? What about Harry and Ron, and the other Weasleys? What will they think when I just never return?" she whispered.

"They will cease to exist as you know them, at the point you are successful, and a new possibility for them in the future would be realised and you may see them again in your future, but they will never know you the way you will remember them. The other possibility of me will however know, as I will be sending a correspondence to my past self."

After a split second, she had made her decision, and Hermione could pinpoint the exact moment the dreadful decision she took became a the path she was on now. The moment she realised this decision would give her parents everything they had ever wanted.

"If I was not a witch my parents would be much happier," Hermione had said suddenly.

"Miss Granger?" prodded Dumbledore, confused at Hermione's sudden turn.

"They pretend that they wouldn't be happier, because they love me of course, but in all honesty, they want me to go to my Mother's old grammar school down the road, take maths a-level and become a dentist. They would never say it, but I know they feel that magic has taken their daughter from them, and who can blame them? They never see me anymore... I'm at school all year, and I'm almost never home for the holidays, Quidditch world cup, the burrow, Grimmauld Place. They would be much happier if I was a ... squib. If I was a muggle like them," Hermione sniffed. "An you're right, b-because the timeline... y-you know d-disappearing, I mean it's n-not like anyone w-would miss m-me..." she continued, and her shoulders had started shaking.

The plan had made horrible horrible sense in her head. To think of all those countless people she would save from sorry fates, and her own parents hopes for her by the sound of things. The only one who would feel deprived would be her, her friends would not even have to miss her. How could she have said no? How could she live with herself if she had said no? She knew that to agreeing was for the best, despite the fact that she was now sitting in a miserable child's miserable bedroom. "I will do it S-Sir," she had answered him, sobbing brokenly.

"No Miss Granger, you have time to come to a decision," Dumbledore had soothed.

"Honestly professor, I d-don't know how I could go on and l-look anyone in the eye ag-gain if I did not do this. This is damage limitation for the casualties people have already s-suffered, this could give H-Harry back his p-parents, n-no, this could p-prevent him from e-ever having to live without them." She had taken a deep breath and waited a few minutes until she could trust her voice again, and ignored the Headmaster's proffered magenta hanky. "No Professor. I am afraid I must accept my part in your plan, however much I feel it costs me."

The following morning, as agreed, Hermione had made her way to Dumbledore's office, elf delivered note clutched in a slightly sweaty hand. She knocked on his door and awaited his response.

"Good morning Professor," she said with a smile as she had sat opposite him, crossing her legs nervously into an uncomfortable sort of knot. She was anxious to hear the immediate plan of action. Dumbledore had already set out the time travel devices on his desk, and Hermione eyed them with apprehension.

The meeting had gone by in a blur, as Professor Dumbledore explained how the time travel device worked and briefed her on the circumstance she was to be sent back to. "I plan to send you back to the second of August, nineteen thirty five, where an eight and a half year old Tom Riddle will be returning from a happy day trip to the seaside. You are to wait in his room for his return, and make your introduction. I will be casting a spell on you before you begin your journey, that will make you unnoticeable to all except yourself and Tom. I cannot pretend I expect he will receive your presence in a pleasant manner, but I would hope, once he realises you are noticeable only to him, that he will chalk you up to be an imaginary figure, or a spectre, or a guardian angel, or any other wonderful excuse the infantile imagination conjures up to explain away the improbable. Once he realises no one else can see you, I doubt he will shout about you, as he was conscious of other's judgement of his sanity from a young age, as we can see from his fear of doctors. Now, you will introduce yourself to him, attempt to diffuse the hostility he shows towards you at first, and then attempt to leave on a relatively good note. Use an air of mystery, and he will wonder about you until the next visit, which will earn you a better reception, and build trust."

Dumbledore had thrust a mid calf length pale yellow dress towards her, announcing that he believed a costume change was in order. After changing into the glamorous yet modest, 1930's style, muggle dress, she had stood anxiously as the Headmaster placed a dish of shimmery potion in the devices little furnace, set the dials and lit it with a flick of his wand. Smoke had poured from the little chimneys, and as instructed she had leaned into the smoke focusing on her destination, and had attempted to disapperate. The lilac smoke had responded by enveloping her, and with a whoosh, she dissolved.

Arriving in a dilapidated hallway, she had climbed the stairs of the empty orphanage and found the room in which she was now anxiously sitting, waiting as the sky darkened for the young Dark Lord to return.

First chapter is up, and I'll update as soon as I can. Please review! Tell me what you think of my eccentric Dumbledore! xxx


	2. The boy Voldemort

Despite the fact it was midsummer, after the sun went down, the was a chill in the air, and many of the orphans shivered as they trekked through the darkening streets, in there thin, grey tunics. Mrs Cole led the procession as they walked the long journey through London from the train station., to the miserable orphanage. Tom scowled at the rich people, warm in their cars, that trundled by occasionally, splattering their ankles with muddy water. Tom shoved Dennis Bishop in front of him as a large van sent a tidal wave towards them. The boy gasped at the freezing shock of the splash, but Tom smiled slyly, as he had only been flecked with what Dennis didn't catch.

Stubbornly biting his lip to prevent his teeth chattering, he was almost glad to see the austere building of the orphanage looming in the middle of the street. As Mrs Cole unlocked the door, fumbling the keys several times, much to his impatience, he shoved his way past the group of snotty five year olds to the front, and squeezed through before the door was barely half open. He was eight and bigger then them, and was more important. He climbed the stairs quickly, eager to seek refuge in his quiet bedroom from the whinging crowd downstairs.

Closing the door quietly behind him he turned around, and much to his horror noticed a woman sitting on his bed. He could not contain the gasp that slipped through his lips, and he scolded himself for it. She had large brown eyes, and sat there in a yellow dress, her curly hair seemed to be alive, moving round her face. She looked nervous.

Hermione was nervous, none of those pensieves seemed to be sufficient to prepare her for this pinched, malnourished looking child.

"This is my room," he spat, he narrowed his eyes at the intruder, hoping this would be sufficient.

"I know," she replied softly. She smiled at him tentatively, but he did not return it.

Apparently not. "This is my room. I told Mrs Cole that I will not share a room, it's mine." He pointed at the door, his mouth a grim line. "Leave," he spat, with an authority she recognised from when pensieve Tom told Dumbledore to tell the truth. Hermione cocked her head to one side and observed him. He got angrier and angrier under her scrutiny. "Leave!" This was almost a hiss, and his cool composure was slipping. Tom felt outraged at the lack of response he was receiving. His voice did that when he was angry, it sounded like how he talked to snakes. He narrowed his eyes further. Snakes. He would scare the silly woman into leaving. He called out in a strangled hissing sentence for one of the rat snakes that lived in the building. There were many of them, living off the rodents in the basement. Mrs Cole didn't clean down there.

The snake slithered out from a gap in the skirting, and he ordered it forwards keeping his eyes fixed on the stupid brown ones that held his unblinkingly, their expression irritatingly gentle. They broke away to watch the snake, and Tom smirked, anticipating the screech and abrupt exit.

"Do you think you can do that to a bigger snake?" She asked conversationally? Tom bit his tongue in is sudden effort not to gape. He felt unnerved and wanted her gone. "I could," he replied, his voice threatening. "I could if I had a bigger snake." She would leave now, or she was an idiot, he was sure of it. She must leave.

She nodded and pulled out a stick. "Serpensortia." With a flick, a yellow and white python shot from it, landing at his feet. Tom could not prevent the gape this time, as he saw the snake she had just made appear. He looked at the girl who was still smiling at him shyly. She gestured at the snake. Holding her eyes, he told the big snake to come to him, and it wound its way up his skinny leg and across his shoulders, showing off his power.

"Give me your name!" Tom commanded, and Hermione thought the small child looked almost regal with that snake around his shoulders. She seemed to have gained his interest, despite his hostility.

"My name is Hermione. Hermione Granger," she acquiesced and stood, holding her hand out to him as if her were an adult. After a beat of silence, he stepped forward and shook it, pulling his hand back to soon as if he feared hers would infect it.

Tom felt nervous. She seemed very tall all of a sudden, and not so stupid after all. "Tell me how you did that," he ordered. He felt better when he was in charge.

"I can make things move without touching them," Hermione replied, quoting an older Tom Riddle from the pensieve. She thought this would capture his interest, and she was not disappointed.

His eyes widened and his breath quickened. "Tell me how!"

"No no no, I've answered your other questions Tom, you can work for this answer," Hermione insisted, wondering to herself how he would react, suspecting to evoke his aggression again. "How do you do it. How do you make things move without touching them? How do you make all those strange things happen. How do you think we do it Tom?

Tom hissed aggressively. This had to be a set up, an illusion. Mrs Cole had sent her. She wanted him to tell her how he frightened the other children, and he wouldn't have it. She knew his name, and she was a bit older than a girl. Mrs Cole had sent someone to have him looked at. "I'm not mad! Anyway, I saw you do it too, and I'll tell on you. If you tell on me I'll tell on you! They'll take you away too!" Tom realised he was now shouting, but could do nothing about it. Much to his displeasure, his fear was dominating him, his breaths coming deep and far too fast.

Hermione's eyes widened at the boys loss of control, she had expected fury, but not this. Her chest contracted at the look of abject fear on Tom's face, and she realised how small and vulnerable he looked. Whatever he had the potential to be, right now he was a terrified eight year old boy. She held up a pacifying hand, and he flinched as if she would strike him. She hushed him gently. "I'm not hear to take you away Tom. I'm here to talk to you, to answer your questions," she said softly, smiling encouragingly. She motioned for him to sit on the bed, but he remained standing.

Tom stared at her, his eyes full of distrust. "Then answer it, tell me how!" His command rang out in the room. It was a test. If she was he to answer him, then she would. If not...

"That's not a question Tom. From now on commands will get you nowhere with me. I am no servant, and I will tell you what I can if you are civil," Hermione told him firmly. She let that hang there as he eyed her speculatively. He finally complied, put the snake on the floor and stiffly sat opposite her on the chair. She vanished it with a wave of her wand and he watched the motion greedily.

"Will you tell me how you can do that?" Tom asked, irritated at the subdued position she had forced him to take. She had better answer him now, or somehow he would make her pay.

"Some children are born different. They have an extra skill, like a gift. People like us are gifted," Hermione told him softly.

Tom leaned towards her, his eyes drinking in her face. "I'm special!" he crowed, "I always knew I was different, that I was special. What is this power? What makes me special?" He asked looking up at her desperate for answers. Tom felt his heart thundering in his chest. He couldn't remember ever living without his power, and the answer to this question was knowledge he had been waiting for all his life.

Hermione was surprised by the eager intensity Tom was radiating. It was the closest thing to warmth she had seen from the boy since he had entered the room. His lower lip twitched, betraying his impatience at her silence. She felt that ache again in her chest, at the realisation that this childlike impatience would stay with him for the rest of his life, resulting in the tyrannical murders of many of his followers. "People like us call it magic Tom," she told him waiting for his reaction.

"Magic?" He leaned forwards, his face animated, and Hermione noted that his expression was now one of both a desperate hunger, and childlike wonder. His mood was so mercurial. "So, so I'm a... magician?" Tom asked, feeling the buoyancy of excitement fill him.

Her laugh tinkled back at him, and Tom noted with a jolt, what a bright happy sound it was , so alien to him in the confines of this miserable place. "No Tom, you are a wizard," she smiled at him conspirationally.

"I always knew!" he whispered, yet the child's whisper held a tremendous intensity. "Always! I knew I was different, I've always been special!" His eyes fell on her wand. "Why do you need that?" he asked pointing, realising he was revealing private information to her. It was time she told him some more.

"When you are taught all the different ways to use your magic, you use a wand, and you learn how to use it to perform precise spells, so that you can control it better," she explained, enjoying his excitement. She remembered this moment of wonder from her own childhood, at the newness of the prospect of a magical world.

Tom eyed her speculatively. "Does that mean you need a wand to control magic? Because I don't need one. I can do what I want without any help. I bet you can't do any magic without a wand!"

Hermione shook her head at his aggressive competitiveness. She held out her hand. Tom just looked at her blankly. He didn't know what the silly woman was expecting from him. "Your hand," she said softly, as if reading his mind. He gave a little shudder, before reluctantly reaching halfway across the distance between them. Hermione smiled at his antics, it seemed that Lord Voldemort had never trusted. She put he wand down on the bed, a movement followed by his dark eyes, and meeting him halfway she turned his little hand over and started to spin circles with he index finger. Tom felt his fingers twitch at the tickling sensation, but this was soon forgotten as a tiny tornado appeared in his palm. He stared at it in amazement. Never had his powers taken a visible form before. He had seen their effects, for it was hard not to see a rabbit dangling from the ceiling, but this... he could see the power. "What's your favourite colour?" Hermione whispered, startling the boy from his thoughts.

Tom hesitated a moment, before the answer burst from his lips. "Green." The colour of outside. Outside of this dump, outside of this miserable city. Green was the colour of nature, and freedom. The tornado expanded, taller and fiercer, the breeze coming off it blowing his hair back from his face, and swirling into it's spiral was a rich emerald green. Tom let out an involuntary laugh of delight.

Hermione was shocked by the sound, a sound brimming with a carefree joy she had never seen in the Tom Riddle in the pensive. She grinned back at him, and her chest hurt at the realisation they were sharing this moment of his exploration of magic. He had leaned in and was now about a foot from her face.

"Teach me!" he breathed. Tom felt he would combust with the frustration of merely watching such power.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry Tom, but no." His face was now blank, and pensive.

Tom thought for a moment. She had issues with orders, so he would ask her. "Will you teach me?"

"I said that I would not. You are too young to be taught how to control your magic," Hermione said firmly, bracing herself for his reaction to her refusal.

Tom sneered at her. Stupid snivelling woman. He closed his hand into a tight fist, blood roaring in his ears as he brimmed with a jealous anger and a furious desire to hurt her. The tornado disappeared, and without it he realised how cold and grey the room seemed without it's warm bright presence. Hot humiliation cut deeply and turned his ears and cheeks pink. he cast his eyes away from her in a sulky fashion, hating his powerlessness, and the vulnerability he felt at the rejection. He wanted to be alone. He was better off alone. "Leave," he hissed, refusing to look at her.

"Don't you want to know when you can learn magic?" Hermione asked, stalling. If she left on his terms, she was not fulfilling Dumbledore's order to leave with an aura of mystery. She had to change tack and go at it from another direction. Any bond that she had formed had crumbled the second she had not given him what he wanted.

He was sitting the with a petulant little pout on his face, his eyes averted. "I thought you were supposed to answer my questions, not ask them! I don't care one way or the other. I can already control my magic, and I don't need anyone's help, and I don't need you!" he exploded suddenly. The sound of footsteps echoed off the stairs. "Hide!" Tom hissed. "They can't know you're in here!"

"Only you can see me Tom. If I were you, I would worry less about me and more about quickly thinking of an excuse as to why you were yelling to noone in particular," Hermione remarked calmly, spreading herself across the bed in the most conspicuous way possible.

Tom was torn, he did not know whether to believe her or not, and Mrs Cole was either going to think he needed looking at, or that he had somhow made a woman appear in his room. Before he could gather his thoughts, a red faced Mrs Cole burst into the room, and advanced on him menacingly. She must not be able to see her then, because she was never violent when there were adults around. She did look a bit drunk however, so he might not have noticed her. Mrs Cole grabbed him by the hair and bent back his head so she could look into his eyes. The woman on the bed gasped, and Tom burned with shame that she had witnessed that. The first person like him that he had found, and she had seen him _weak_. "What in the name God is all this yelling Tom? Who else is here, hmm? Who are you bullying now, you diabolical child?!"

"I am alone Mrs Cole. I was just... venting," Tom answered, as cold calm hate gripped him, the desire for this woman to be punished.

Mrs Cole's eyes scanned the room, as if a small child would pop out from the woodwork. "You are an oddity Tom. Nothing good will come of you, all you do is hurt people. You need looking at, you strange child. Never have I ever had to deal with a Devil's urchin such as yourself before, and you disgust me!" she spat. "Do you understand me Tom. Nothing good." She released his hair and Tom staggered backwards, nodding sullenly. "Make that bed, the sheets are creased!" cried Mrs Cole as she slammed from the room.

Hermione walked towards Tom tentatively. "Are you alright Tom?" She could hardly believe the brutal damning words that had just been hurled at this little boy who stood in the cantre of the room, looking so lost and desolate.

"She doesn't scare me. Noone does. She won't make me cry. I never cry, never in my whole life." Tom glared at her. "Leave. You are useless to me, If you are not here to teach me or to prevent my suffering than you may leave," he anounced imperiosly, and began to make the bed she had ruffled with her sitting. Hermione felt her chest constrict with guilt.

"Does she do that often?" she asked softly.

"Only when she's drunk, but she's drunk lots of the time," Tom replied, the words seeming to be torn from his mouth. He had never told anyone before and he felt slightly sick that he felt compelled to spill his guts now.

"She's wrong Tom. You're very powerful, and great good could come of you if you set your mind to it," Hermione Told him gently. The boy preened, and seemed to glow under her praise. "But you are right, I should be leaving." Hermione took a vial of the time smoke from her pocket and crushed the fragile glass in her hand. The smoke spread in a puff.

"Wait!" cried Tom, but she had dissapear, and the cloud of smoke swiftly dissipated into the air. He let out a growl and kicked the wastepaper basket, furious at himself for losing his temper.

Hi! I tried to create a mature before his time Tom, and to show Hermione's compassion. I want Tom to seem boylike, yet reflect what he has the potential to become, and give him a sinister side. Tell me what you think, leave me a review!

Love Dancingduck xxx


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